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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603764">yours is the first face that I saw</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbythesea/pseuds/ghostbythesea'>ghostbythesea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, David "Dave" Katz Lives, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Role Reversal, Time Travel, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:07:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603764</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbythesea/pseuds/ghostbythesea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>THE COMMISSION<br/>OFFICE MEMORANDUM<br/>02/21/1969</p><p>ASSIGNMENT: ELIMINATE DAVID JOSEPH KATZ</p><p> </p><p>David Katz was never meant to survive past February 21st, 1969.</p><p>Then again, Dave was never good at living according to others’ expectations of him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hargreeves &amp; Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>163</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>yours is the first face that I saw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bell above the door rang as Klaus waltzed into the shop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the counter, the cashier frowned at Klaus, looking skeptically at the patchwork coat and leather pants hanging from his bony frame, but Klaus didn’t particularly care. He tried for casual as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, wandering down the candy aisle and whistling a tune, but he knew that he must’ve looked like a mess.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Straight off parole, and you’re going to steal something again?” Ben asked, leaning against the fridges along the back wall of the shop. He watched him disapprovingly, but he hardly ever did anything worth Ben’s approval anymore regardless. Klaus was immune to his stare of resentment. “Why don’t you ask him about job opportunities? Or get something to eat? There’s plenty of other things you could be doing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have a plan,” Klaus gritted out through his teeth, keeping his voice low. It wouldn’t end well if the cashier caught him talking to himself. “Just trust me, Ben, it’ll be fine. If this goes wrong, it’s on me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s always on you,” Ben corrected.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He found what he was looking for in a barren section of the store, where a handful of chip bags hung from their metal posts and most of the products hadn’t been restocked. Kneeling down, he strained his eyes as he read one of the labels, then cursed just loud enough that the cashier could hear him, but not loud enough to be overly-dramatic.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Standing up, he wandered back to the front counter, glancing back over his shoulder. The clerk’s expression darkened, his greasy face crumpling into a grimace as Klaus approached him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re out of Lays’ garlic and onion chips,” Klaus informed him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what do you want me to do about it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure you have some in the backroom,” Klaus insisted, leaning across the counter and batting his eyelashes. The man’s nose scrunched up as he leaned away from him, his lips curling into a sneer. Klaus’ breath probably smelled like whiskey and menthols, but he was long past being embarrassed by things like bad breath. “Please, just check for me? I <em>need</em> them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever,” the clerk muttered under his breath, turning around to walk through the door to the backroom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Klaus felt a rush of anticipation as he waited for the door to close completely, so he could grab what he needed and leave. It would probably be a choice between food and essentials, or cigarettes and whatever money was in the cash register, but he already knew which he was going to prioritize. Cocaine and benzos cost money, after all, and he could already feel the itch of withdrawal creeping in, whispers in his ears and shadows flickering on the edge of his vision.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Klaus,” Ben warned, “get something to eat, or leave. You can’t afford to get yourself arrested again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I <em>know</em>, Ben,” he hissed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “I’ll just—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But just as the back door clicked shut, the bell attached to the entrance rang as the door was pushed open. A customer was entering the store.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A man stumbled into the shop, and Klaus’ gaze was immediately drawn to the military fatigues he was wearing, and the dirt smudging his skin. His boots covered in mud and grime, there was a set dog tags hanging around his neck, and there was something dark staining his clothes that Klaus probably didn’t want to think too hard about.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he noticed Klaus, his shoulders slumped in relief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, I’m just— fuck,” the man babbled, combing his hand roughly through his dirtied blonde curls. He looked around the shop with wide eyes that were a startlingly vibrant shade of blue. “Where am I, exactly?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The corner store on Fourth Avenue,” Klaus answered, before realizing just how strange the question was. The man looked like he was tweaking out, pupils contracting and dilating and skin clammy, his hands shaky as they twisted the dog tags around his neck. “Are you on something?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” the man exclaimed, mortified. He took in a ragged breath, then scrubbed at his face. “Shit—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, shh,” Klaus soothed as the man started to cry, forgetting his original plan, “let’s get you outta’ here, yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leading the man down the street, ignoring concerned looks from onlookers, he walked until he was certain he was an adequate distance from the shop, then pushed the man down a familiar alleyway. He went easily, and Klaus thought about how simple it would be to steal from the man, but even he had standards. He wasn’t about to take advantage of him unless he deserved it. And besides, he doubted that he had much on him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“C’mon,” he encouraged, settling him down on the electrical unit he’d slept behind, on several occasions. In the winter, it was the warmest place in town, besides the shelters. Sitting down next to him, he watched as the man buried his face into his hands, feeling about as uncomfortable as he could get. “Do you wanna’, erm, talk about it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ben leaned against the wall opposite them, expression disapproving. “This is a bad idea, Klaus,” he drawled, tucking his hands into his pockets, “considering you can’t even handle your own problems.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Klaus hissed at him quietly, but the man laughed a little hysterically, shaking his head, and he refocused his attention onto him. “I don’t know what happened,” the man confessed, his voice thick with emotion. He shook his head, bouncing his knee anxiously as he rubbed his face, and Klaus felt a rush of sympathy. “Someone tried to kill me, and there was a briefcase—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are they still after you?” Klaus interrupted, glancing cautiously down the alleyway. He might’ve been relegated to lookout for most of his childhood, but he was still a trained combatant, even if his skills had dulled significantly over years of disuse. If he needed to cut and run, it would be simple enough, but he’d like some warning ahead of time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think so,” the man croaked, shaking his head. At least there wasn’t any imminent danger, then. “I opened the briefcase, and suddenly I was just— somewhere else. And then it <em>exploded</em>, and I think I’m stuck here, now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stuck, where?” Klaus asked patiently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know,” he stuttered, “I don’t—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay,” Klaus hurried to reassure him, “just take your time! I’ve got nowhere else to be.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man looked at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes like he’d just promised him waffles, or drugs, or something equally appealing. The sincerity made Klaus uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he said softly, eyes glossy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He probably wasn’t on something, that was what Klaus knew for certain, but judging by the dog tags and his clothes, he was probably a war veteran. Post-traumatic stress disorder could’ve made him confused if he was having an episode, although why he was still wearing his military uniform, and what the briefcase was, he had no clue. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get him to a shelter or something. He could’ve just come back to the states.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ask him if he has family,” Ben instructed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you have family somewhere?” Klaus asked, trying desperately to not remember his own.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where are we, exactly?” The man asked instead of answering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re in Argyle, New York,” Klaus answered, trying to keep the confusion out of his voice. It was possible the man was just another homeless veteran, instead of a man with mental health issues having an episode.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” he cursed again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is there somewhere you can go?” If Klaus could figure out where to bring him, if he had somewhere safe, then he could leave him and wash his hands of the issue. He desperately needed to get his next fix, but he knew that he couldn’t just abandon the man in the alleyway. “Where do you remember being last?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was fighting in the A Shau Valley,” the man answered, “Vietnam.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dog tags, the military clothes, the confusion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It struck Klaus that the man didn’t know he was dead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Klaus swallowed around the lump that’d formed in his throat, trying to suppress the revulsion and fear that rushed through him. He’d seemed to seek Klaus out, even if he didn’t know what brought him there. It made sense that he was confused, seeing as he’d died half a world away fighting in a war that ended a decade before Klaus was even born.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man didn’t have any open wounds, but he could’ve had injuries that Klaus couldn’t see. Or he could be like Ben, whose wounds in life hadn’t carried over after his passing. Maybe the saner a ghost was, the less that their death affected their physical forms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Klaus,” Ben said, coming to crouch down next to him, “breath.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” Klaus said, the words spilling out of his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was the one foolish enough to enlist,” the man huffed, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s your name?” Klaus asked quietly. He was reverting to the questions that his father used to make him ask during his training, before he’d turned to drugs and liquor to keep them out, and it made him feel small like nothing else could’ve. His mind was racing as he tried to come up with an excuse to leave.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“David Katz,” the man introduced, sticking out a hand. “Dave.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jewish?” Klaus asked, voice pitching up an octave.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It startled a laugh out of Dave, and he put his hand down. “Yeah,” he answered, a smile playing on his lips. He reached up again, and instead of the dog tags, he pushed them aside to reveal a Star of David hanging on a chain around his neck. “This was my father’s, before he passed away.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Klaus, this isn’t good for you,” Ben said quietly. He might not have approved of his drug abuse, but he was the only one of his siblings who understood that he didn’t just do it for attention. “You shouldn’t be talking with him, Klaus.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ben,” Klaus hissed, “I can’t just—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man startled next to him, glancing towards where Klaus was shouting at, and his jaw snapped shut. Dave glanced between him and Ben, before settling his gaze on Klaus. “Are you, um,” he paused, “seeing things? Who’s Ben?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ghosts could usually see each other, Klaus thought, so why couldn’t—<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>oh</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” Klaus breathed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He reached out, and grabbed the man’s wrist. His palm met with warm flesh as he wrapped his fingers around it, and he laughed giddily in heady disbelief, a flood of relief washing over him before it struck him that he was talking to an <em>actual veteran of the Vietnam War</em>. Who had stolen a magical briefcase from someone who’d attacked him, and ended up on the opposite side of the world, in a completely different time period. He might’ve been more freaked out if his life hadn’t been just as strange from the moment he was born.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dave frowned, but he didn’t pull away from him. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought you were dead,” he confessed easily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, alright,” Dave sputtered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re, like, fifty years in the future,” Klaus explained hurriedly, feeling actually excited about something for once. It was mostly the exhilaration that the man in front of him wasn’t dead, he supposed. “I don’t know how, but my brother was capable of time travel before he disappeared, so it’s possible!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Klaus, you should’ve broken that gentler,” Ben said, and Klaus pouted at him, although he knew that he was probably right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m <em>what?</em>” Dave asked, eyes widening in shock and horror. “Your brother—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it’s okay,” Klaus reassured him. “New York sucks, but it’s better than a war zone, probably!”<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wondered vaguely if it was easier to get drugs in New York, or working in the army back when they basically encouraged their soldiers to be off their faces on cocaine, or whatever. New York, he figured.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wetting his lips, Dave breathed shakily, muscles tensing under Klaus’ hand. He found that he really didn’t want to let him go now that they were touching, because he was <em>alive</em>, a living, breathing person, and it’d been awhile since he’d touched someone breathing for reasons that weren’t sex work. It was a calming sort of intimacy he hadn’t even realized that he’d missed, before he’d met him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do I get back?” Dave asked quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No idea,” Klaus admitted, feeling a little guilty when Dave visibly deflated. “But I’m sure that we can figure it out! Do you know who attacked you before?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Dave said. He gave a stilted laugh, then started crying again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Klaus was in over his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not equipped to deal with this,” Ben said dryly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But who else does he have?” Klaus whined, throwing up his hands. He didn’t usually go out of his way to help strangers, but something about the man felt different. “If it’s not me, who else would believe him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure he has records somewhere,” Ben said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Check with the army for a soldier missing in action matching his name and number. If he’s telling the truth, there has to be information somewhere.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know that he’s telling the truth,” Klaus insisted. He could feel it. “We just need to send him back, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who are you talking to?” Dave sniffled, and he was reminded that Dave couldn’t see Ben. He probably looked crazy, talking to nothing. Dave wouldn’t have known about his status as a child superhero who could see ghosts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My dead brother,” he said casually. Ben rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The, uh, time travel one?” Dave asked quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” Klaus answered. Ben snorted at the blunt answer. “The one with the inter-dimensional portal in his stomach.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Staring at him inquisitively, Dave rubbed at his eyes, scrubbing the tears from his dirty cheeks. Klaus knew he should probably get him bathed and clothed before doing anything else. Nobody would take a homeless addict and a man in filthy military fatigues very seriously. “Why are you helping me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boredom,” Klaus lied. He didn’t actually have a reason, not one he was keen sharing, at least, and that would scare the shit out of him if he thought about it too hard. “And who knows. If we figure out time travel, I could get rich on selling briefcase time machines.” Now, there was a thought. He’d be so rich he could bathe in money and ecstasy until he inevitably died in a drug-induced, sexed-out blaze of glory.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It earned him a thin smile from Dave. “If my life weren’t already so weird,” he choked out wetly, “I wouldn’t believe you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Trust me,” Klaus sighed, “same here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Extending a hand towards Dave, he wiggled his fingers. When Dave grasped his hand, shaking it with a firm grip, it was like an electric shock. He squeezed him back, never wanting to let him go, even if he knew he’d have to eventually. Dave’s hand was just so <em>warm</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Klaus,” he introduced himself.</span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is from <em>First Day Of My Life</em> by Bright Eyes. I don’t own the Umbrella Academy, or the characters.</p><p>Yet another work posted while procrastinating on my works-in-progress. :’) Next chapter of my other work should be out today or tomorrow, but I’m moving into my university dorms, so it could be a little longer more. Maybe I’ll continue this someday, but I just had a craving for a little role reversal.</p><p>Hope you enjoyed. As always, your comments sustain me, even if it’s just incoherent screaming! That shit makes my day to read. Come find me at @gay-poster-child on Tumblr, and stay safe, lovelies~!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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